


Where Does It Hurt?

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fingerfucking, Frottage, Masturbation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nipple Licking, Playing Doctor, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 00:52:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4646274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny is hurt playing Quidditch in the family garden. Ron helps her out. And then helps a little more. And a little more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Does It Hurt?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my August Daily Deviant. :-)

Ginny's broom took a hard Bludger from George and splintered mid-air.

"Sorry, Gin, I was aiming for Charlie!" she heard as she went plummeting to the garden ground.

Somebody got their wand out almost in time. Almost. She hit the ground not quite as hard as she would have otherwise and rolled, curling up in a ball and groaning at the pain in her side.

"Ginny! Shit!" George stumbled to a landing near her, throwing his broom aside and running over. Soon, she was surrounded on all sides by concerned family and friends.

"Get back!" Ron yelled from somewhere. "Give her air, for Merlin's sake."

The circle around her parted, and Ron came to stand over her and then kneel, his eyes full of fear. He reached out a hand and smoothed the hair off her face. Ginny gulped a breath of air and felt the pain subside.

 

"You should have let them take you to Mungo's," Ron said, pulling bottles and phials out of the first aid kit as Ginny lay on her bed. "And I don't know why you won't at least let mum look at it. It's not as though I'm ace in potions, you know."

"I know." She gave him a small grin. "But you have field experience from trying to find those Horcruxes, and… and I don't know, okay?" She winced when she moved wrong, trying to get comfortable. "Just give me the pain stuff before the salve, all right?"

"Right. Sure." Ron frowned at one bottle and then another. "Ah! Here we go." He came to perch on the edge of her bed. "Can you sit?"

"Yeah, just give me a hand."

Ron took her hand in his much larger one, though they were both a bit rough from all the Quidditch they'd played the past couple of months. She gritted her teeth as he helped her to sit and then handed her the potion bottle. She took a swig.

"Bloody hell, how can you drink that without grimacing?" Ron asked.

"Just tougher than you, I guess." But she gasped with the pain as he helped her lower herself back to the bed.

"How fast does that stuff work?" Ron had that worried look about him again.

"Five minutes," she assured him.

"Okay, good. Good." He rubbed his palms on his jeans.

"Could you… help me with this?" Futilely she gestured down to her feet where her dirt-caked boots were still on.

"Oh. Yeah. Sure." Ron scooted down the bed and started unlacing them. "You were going to win, you know. George feels bloody bad about it." He tugged a boot off and then started work on the other.

"It's good practice for Hogwarts. They'll be hitting Bludgers at me that hard or harder on purpose."

He gulped and fiddled with a particularly difficult knot. "Gin… Are you sure you want to go back?"

"What do you mean? Of course I'm sure. It's my NEWT year and—"

"I know, I know. Just…" He gave a tug and the second boot slipped free. He let it tumble to the floor. "You're the last of us. And you'll be there alone."

"I can take care of myself," Ginny said, but she didn't feel the self-righteous heat she normally did when she had to remind him she was perfectly capable. Ron truly looked worried for her. And she suspected it only covered for him feeling responsible for her well-being whether she needed his help and protection or not. "Could you do the socks, too?"

"Oh," he said. "Sure." Tentatively, his hands slipped up her trouser leg and then peeled first one sock and then the other off her feet. He was so gentle he tickled, and Ginny bit her lip to keep from snatching her feet away.

"Smelly," Ron said.

"Shut it." Ginny gave a cursory kick in the direction of his hip but ended up cringing when it hurt her more than him.

"So," Ron said. "Is that… all you need then?"

Ginny swallowed, felt her cheeks heat, and said, "I need help with these, too."

"You do?"

"Yes, I bloody do, Ron." She turned her face toward the wall, equal parts frustrated and embarrassed.

"Fine, fine." Ron sighed. "Could you, er, maybe unfasten them?"

She nodded, and, hands trembling slightly, unbuttoned and unzipped her trousers. But when she tried to shimmy them down her hips, her bruised ribs revolted and she sank back, anger at her helplessness clenching her jaw.

"No worries. I've got it, okay?"

She covered her eyes with her arm. "Go on then."

Ron cleared his throat and moved back up the bed a bit, settling a knee between hers and grasping the waistband of her trousers. Slowly, he worked them down her hips. Ginny's knickers started to creep down with them, and with a small gasp her hands flew to them to hold them in place. She peeked under her arm to see Ron steadfastly looking away as he gently tugged and the trousers slid down her thighs, the backs of his fingers trailing along her skin.

"You'll be home for Christmas, right? I mean… right?"

"Sure. I mean, I think so."

Ron pulled the trousers down her calves and off her feet one leg at a time. "Maybe I could even meet you for Hogsmeade weekends."

"Ron," she said. "I do have my own friends, you know."

"Yeah, I know." He laughed uneasily and gave a little shrug, dropping it. 

But then he looked at her calves, and his eyes meandered up her legs. When he got to the crotch of her panties, he inhaled sharply and looked away. 

Ginny tugged at the hem of her t-shirt, but it still only came to the tops of her thighs. She watched Ron's turned-away face go red. "That's quite a bruise on your thigh, Gin. You sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" His voice went dangerously squeaky for a moment.

"I'm sure," she said. "Salve?"

"Er, yeah." He bent down to retrieve the first aid kit again and rummaged through it. He withdrew the pot and smiled at her. "Right here." His eyes looked even bluer when his cheeks were pink like that. 

"Ron, I can't… reach," she finished on a frustrated sigh.

"Oh." He frowned. "Right. Should I… get Mum then?"

Ginny reached out and laid her hand over his around the salve. "No, don't. Please?"

His gaze met hers, and something there made her catch her breath. He blinked, firmed his jaw, but then nodded.

"Thank you," she whispered as he unscrewed the lid. His hands were shaking. His big, strong hands.

He reached toward the large plum-shaded splotch on the outside of her thigh and softly dabbed the salve onto it. He dipped his fingers into the pot once more and dab-dab-dabbed. He screwed the lid back in place, cleared his throat, and then started smearing the salve around until it completely covered the bruise. "I'll miss you," he suddenly said, frowning at her bruise and stroking the salve over it.

Ginny sighed as his fingers soothed over the hurt. She felt her muscles start to relax. "Potion's working," she told him.

"So, this doesn't hurt?" Ron's voice was soft, his touch careful.

"No. It feels nice."

She watched his face as he continued to work. The salve covered the bruise, and his administering of it was now unnecessary. His fingers trembled a little. And as she watched, his gaze flicked – so quickly – to the apex of her thighs, where her panties still showed. His gaze, for that brief second, touched the place where, under lace, her clit had begun to throb in time with her pulse.

"Do you remember…?" she found herself asking before she could stop, "…when we played Healer? When we were kids?"

He gave an uneasy laugh that died almost as quickly as it hit the air. He rubbed the salve gently up the outside of her leg, smoothing a little onto the top part of her upper thigh where her Quidditch-trained muscles, so sensitive, jumped under his hand.

She thought he wasn't going to answer her… would just let the inflammatory subject drop. Instead, his fingers trailed down her thigh, he took a short intake of breath, and when he spoke, his voice came out low, like a man's. "Where does it hurt?"

That's how they'd always started, the few times they'd let themselves. It had never lasted long. They'd dissolve into giggling and embarrassment before they got to anything too dangerous.

But Ron's voice now, so throaty it ached in her, promised something. Maybe that he remembered as well as she did, even though they never spoke of it. Maybe he wondered, as she did, how far they might have gone.

His gaze lifted to hers, and Ginny gasped at how dilated his eyes were. She licked her lips, hesitated, but then lifted her t-shirt a little to show the bruising on her side, just under her bottom ribs. "Here," she told him. "It hurts here."

His Adam's apple moved as he swallowed, and Ginny noticed the ginger stubble that ran down his throat which had never been there before. It had been years, something she'd never expected nor hoped to happen with him again. But here they were, alone in her room, and Ron was picking up the salve and coating three fingers with it.

Still, though, Ginny wasn't sure. There was some very real bruising along her side. She'd planned on treating it herself, and now that the pain potion was working, she'd have no trouble. But just because Ron was willing to help her do this part… well, it didn't mean he was ready for anything else.

Ginny wasn't entirely sure if _she_ was. All she knew was that her stomach was fluttering; her heart pounded; and suddenly, urgently, her cunt was wet. She felt exposed, having lifted the shirt. Her panties didn't cover a whole lot, and now Ron could see her thighs, her stomach, and whatever showed through the lace. Her belly rose and fell quickly with her nervous breath as she awaited her brother's touch. When it came, it was soft still. He winced for her, although she felt no pain as he smoothed the medicine over her skin.

"Remind me to kill George later, yeah?"

He said it so quietly, and yet there was an edge of possessiveness to it. Ginny schooled her breath as Ron's fingers stroked over the sore spot. He made sure the salve shone over the whole bruise. She heard his breath deepen.

"Like that?" he asked.

"Yes," she breathed.

"How does it feel?"

"It feels good."

His Adam's apple bobbed again. "Does it hurt anywhere else?"

"Uh… my stomach… a little bit?"

There was no bruising on her stomach. There was no pain there. She felt like this fact was written all over her body, her face, in her eyes.

Ron's gaze flicked to hers and then back to where his fingers now travelled outside the proprietary bounds of her bruising. They moved onto her stomach, though she had the distinct feeling that he knew; he did it anyway. He didn't even bother with salve now. He just stroked tender fingers over her abdomen, above her navel, over to her side, and then made the return trip over the swell of her belly, above her panties.

Ginny's breath came out in a rush, and she licked her lips. Ron tickled the tips of his fingers back and forth over her belly, then. Just above the lace. Ginny's cunt throbbed for it. 

Ron laid his hand down flat on her. His pinkie finger barely touched the top of her panties. "How's that?"

She nodded.

His hand slid, back and forth, warm. He took a deep breath. "Anywhere else?"

She swallowed. This was it. There was a line, and she was about to cross it.

She raised the t-shirt a little higher, until it rested just under her breasts. "My ribs," she said. 

Ron shifted a little. His hand moved to her far side, his other coming to rest on the near. Steadily, he stroked both hands up her ribs… and then down again. Up, and then down. And every time they ran up her body, they got so close to her breasts that Ginny had to bite her lip to keep the moan inside. She had to resist the urge to arch into his palms. She could do nothing about how wet she got.

"Like this?"

"Mm-hmm."

His fingers danced up her sides, dipped just a little under the t-shirt, and when they moved toward her back, she gave him room. His hands ran back down to her waist, then again they caressed up her ribs, nudging the t-shirt. The smallest of mewls left her lips. She closed her eyes, brought shaking hands under her own shirt and unhooked the front clasp of her bra, peeling it away from her breasts but leaving the shirt in place – as though that mattered. As though that sheltered any part of her intentions, her desire, from him. 

She lifted her arms above her head. Ron's breathing became louder, more laboured. On the next pass of his hands, his fingers sought her out under the shirt, just the soft and sensitive sides of her breasts.

She gasped.

His fingers tickled her there, ran up to her armpits, testing the shirt's ability to keep concealing her breasts. He stroked back down to the sides of her tits and teased her. He was so gentle, his hands so patient, when his breathing made it sound like he was barely in control. Ginny wondered if he was hard.

"Where else?"

Ginny didn't fail to miss the subtle but important change in direction of his questioning.

"Ron…" she whimpered.

"Ginny… you have to tell me."

She opened her eyes and looked at him. Merlin, he looked… wrecked. He looked ready to rip the t-shirt off her body any moment. 

She gulped. And then she reached down, took the bunched material, and lifted it. She stripped it over her head and off, exposing her breasts and then lying back and watching his gaze devour her.

"Here," she told him. 

"Fuck, Gin." His hands went for her, hesitated. She held her breath. But then he licked his lips and reached again. He cupped her, lifting her breasts, weighing them in his large hands.

She arched, pushing her nipples against nothing, yet still they tightened.

Ron brushed his thumbs over them, and she cried out. He did it again, and the fact of her legs parting was all but involuntary.

Ron flicked her tits, and she repeatedly arched into his touch like she was on lust potions. Her breathing came hard. Her knickers were soaked.

"How do they feel?" Ron's voice came out rough, changed.

"They …they ache… and they tingle…"

"I think, for that," he swallowed, "I'd suggest a, er, warm, wet heat."

"Yesss…"

His head descended and he took a nipple between his lips, licking at it with his warm tongue.

"Oh my god… oh god…" She arched hard into his mouth, and he sucked. He pinched her other nipple in time with how he sucked her. Her hand dropped into his soft hair, and at her touch, he groaned. The deep vibration felt better than good. Ginny was afraid she might orgasm any moment.

Ron switched sides and licked and then sucked at her other breast, leaving the first one wet. He gently plucked at it between finger and thumb. He grunted, sucking her, and Ginny's legs parted more. 

He hardly lifted his mouth to ask it, and his lips brushed her tit as he spoke, "Where else?" He laved over her nipple, cupping her other breast and squeezing.

"Between my legs," she got out.

"Yeah?" He kissed her nipple, open lips, no tongue, over and over. Something about it, though not nearly chaste, spoke of reverence. Each touch of his lips was a pleasant shock to her body. Already his hand was sliding down her stomach.

"Yes," she encouraged him. "Ron, it _hurts_." And it wasn't a lie. She stung and ached and throbbed.

His hand slipped over her shivering belly, down over her panties and between her legs. She moaned as suddenly this needy part of her felt the touch of his warm, rough hand through the damp lace of her knickers. His fingers rubbed over her, up and down. She moved against his hand, empty cunt clenching for him.

"Is this where it hurts, Gin?"

"Merlin, yes."

His lips pressed kisses all over her breast, coming back to her nipple and sucking. His soft touch teased her, making her want to cry and thrash and, Merlin help her, beg him to fuck her.

"Please…" She rolled her hips for more. "Please…" And when he only stroked her through the lace again and again, she reached down, took his hand in her own, and moved it beneath her knickers until she could feel his bare fingers parting her folds, stroking between them, gathering her slick from below and spreading it up over her ready clit.

"Oh _fuck_ ," she cried, raising her arms over her head again and bracing against the headboard as he pet her there, as his fingers circled the bud of her clit and sent fire through her whole body.

"Off," she demanded. "Take them off." She brought her knees together for him to shimmy her panties down her legs.

Then she was naked, and her brother was still fully clothed, and there was no disguising the wet glistening in her curls, on her inner thighs, as his hands ran up her legs, and he parted her again, and this time, _this_ time, he looked.

"Ah, Gin," he sighed.

And she could see now that his erection was big and straining at the flies of his jeans.

He cupped her, gave a soft squeeze that ameliorated the sharp sting of her arousal. He ran two fingers along her slit again, and she moved, slow and sure, against them.

The sound of how wet she was filled the room. Ron's dark eyes watched his fingers working her clit and then rose to meet her gaze, a painful question there. She saw his other hand, rubbing at his cock through the denim. She nodded at him, and he let his breath out on a choked groan. He started to unfasten his trousers one-handed.

He got his cock out over the top of his pants. It was large and thick, the head wet and pink as it peeked from the foreskin. Ron worked his hand over it in a practiced way that had her pulling her legs open and up, inviting something she knew they couldn't have.

Ron looked at her, bit his lip, and then circled her opening with a finger. She panted, gave him a short nod, and he pushed it slowly inside her, his hand stroking up his length and reaching the base of his cock as his finger pressed all the way into her cunt.

She turned her head on the pillow, her brows knitting. Her sheets smelled clean. They smelled of lilacs and gingerbread. They smelled like her memories.

Ron pulled his finger out of her slowly, and she opened her eyes to watch him fist his cock down to the crown. He massaged it, his hand closing over the head only to let it reappear, more slick and ready than before. He added a second finger when he pushed into her again. He thrust into his own hand and lost his breath.

He finger-fucked her like that until she was moaning for him, his hand always working his cock in time.

But it wasn't what she wanted. She'd ceased caring if he was penetrating her, as good as his fingers felt. 

She wanted to smell him. She wanted him hot and protective on top of her.

"Wait."

Immediately, his hands both stilled. A look of terror came over him.

"No, just…" She swallowed. "Get in the bed."

He hesitated, hand hot on her thigh.

"Just… come here." When still he waited, she took his hand and tugged. "Please?"

He frowned, his breath short with arousal. But as she pulled, he obeyed, coming to kneel between her legs. His troubled gaze met hers, and she nodded. He crawled up over her, still not allowing himself to rest in the crux of her thighs. She reached down and took the hem of his t-shirt. She pulled it off, ruffling his hair, and he tossed it away somewhere. He frowned at her as she shoved his jeans and pants down his hips. His cock hung completely free and touched her belly. He inhaled sharply.

Ginny spread her legs and nodded.

"Ginny…" 

She lowered her eyes. "Just…" She swallowed thickly. "I can't… I'm not on… I'm not taking any…" She looked up and met his gaze. "I can't."

"Okay," Ron assured her.

She let her breath out, flushed from her chest to her ears. 

"I won't," he said.

She nodded, her skin tingling with the anticipation, and then Ron lowered himself onto her body, his cock fitting against her folds so that they both gasped. She wrapped her legs around his waist. She marvelled at the ginger hair under his arms as he held his upper body aloft. And then she tentatively ran her hands up his sides, around to his back, and pulled a little.

He lay down on her, his chest pressing to her naked breasts, a hand stroking down to her hip, one sifting over her hair. "Oh, Ginny," he breathed. He rolled his hips and rocked against her wet cunt, and they both groaned.

She held him, felt his strong heart beating. His chest rubbed her nipples. He breathed against her cheek, her neck, and he thrust between her legs, his cock stroking her clit.

"Ginny… Gin…" 

"Oh god yes," she whined, her magic rising, her body going tense. She groaned as she came, rocking against him, and he ground down on her, hips pumping hard. She closed her eyes, her hands descending. She cupped his arse, felt his effort to bring her off, and squeezed, the orgasm cresting and a single tear sliding down her temple and into her hair.

"Gin…" Ron gasped. And then his face went beautifully slack as his semen roped onto her belly. She brushed his hair back, and he rode it out between her sticky thighs.

He trembled for a moment and then relaxed, panting against her. His weight anchored her, so warm and heavy, and Ginny shut her eyes. She let her hands still on his skin and just felt him breathe.

"Fuck, I must be hurting you," he said then, voice sex-sated but concerned.

He rolled off her before she could tell him she didn't hurt at all.

"Shit, where's my wand?" He glanced at her, his eyes still dark from having wanted her. "Where's yours?"

"Downstairs, I think."

"Shit." He sat and ran a hand through his hair. He stood and hiked his pants and jeans up, faced away from her. 

"Where are you going?"

"Just stay there. I'll be right back."

He crossed the room into her bath, and she heard the water turn on. Not for the first time, Ginny was grateful that because she was the only girl, she got her own bathroom when her brothers had to share.

Ron returned with a damp cloth.

She started to sit. "Ron, I can—"

"Lie back." 

Slowly, she did. Ron licked his lips, a nervous habit, and brought the cloth to her stomach where his come painted her. He started cleaning it off, his ministrations tender.

"I can do that myself," she told him.

"I know." He nodded, not meeting her gaze. "You can do anything."

She looked for signs that he was being facetious, but there were none. 

Ron cleaned her up, then refolded the cloth and scrubbed at his own stomach. "I'll, uh… take this to my room," he said, lifting the manky thing.

"Thanks." She felt herself blushing.

"Here." He grabbed up her discarded clothing. "Do you… need help?" He looked slightly afraid of her answer.

"No. It doesn't hurt anymore." She sat and donned her t-shirt.

Suddenly, his hand shot out, and he took her wrist, stopping her. He wouldn't look at her. His lips parted, and he inhaled to speak, but no words came out.

She bit her lip. Then she leaned in quickly and left a kiss on his rough cheek. 

He blinked at the floor, clearing his throat. He let go of her wrist and rose, finding his shirt and pulling it on. He made for the door, stopping with his hand on the knob. "I'll see you at dinner. Right?" 

"Yeah. Sure." She forced something casual and merry into her voice.

He turned his head, smiled a little and nodded. He opened the door.

"Ron?"

He turned, then, facing her, his gaze finding hers, eager to be her brother again maybe. "Yeah?"

Ginny pulled the shirt down to cover her nakedness. It only served to pull the cotton tight over her breasts. Ron's eyes flicked down briefly and then met her gaze again.

"I'll… see you at dinner," she said finally. What else was there to say?

"Right." He gave her a small smile. "Okay. I'll see you, Ginny."

When she dropped her gaze – because it was just moments ago that he said her name while he came – he turned again and walked out, closing the door softly behind him.

Ginny picked up her pillow and hugged it to her body. She dropped her face into its soft sweetness. Still thrumming, she closed her eyes.


End file.
